Author: bftowe

Redness briefly filled Xenn’s sitting room. The redness dissipated and revealed a small bluewood table before the Kirrie-person. On the table, a minuscule vat sat over a tiny flame that flickered a myriad of colors. The transparent vat was not much larger than a tavern mug. Little rivulets of gray smoke rose from the tiny vat and produced light similar to the rays of the gray sun.

The Kirrie-person said, “Behold the Seventh Vessel.”

Unseen hands poured small quantities of liquids in the order lavender, uncolored, yellow, red, and green. The fluid in the vessel effervesced with the addition of the liquids. After the green liquid was added, unseen hands dropped ripened enhancing root tubers into the mixture. White, then yellow, red, green, and finally gray smoke briefly rose from the little vessel. When the gray smoke cleared, the fluid within the Seventh Vessel was perfectly clear.

She picked up the Seventh Vessel and said, “This is the Seventh Nectar. Drink it. Trust me, it’ll quench your thirst. You’ll feel stronger.”

The Spellweaver took the simple cup, turned it to his lips, and drank the Seventh Nectar. Xenn felt a force ripping at the very fabric of his essence. The Spellweaver briefly disappeared and sensed cold…nothingness?  Xenn reappeared, and then changed in color in the order translucent, brilliant yellow, red, green, snow-white, gray, and finally to an ever so faintly green tinged yellow-orange color.

Xenn asked, “Why am I greenish? You are Kirrie!”

She answered, “Part of the plan, Spellweaver. I’ve got to be going.”

The matron placed a blue tile on the floor and stepped onto it. Blueness flashed through the treehouse and the she-Drelve, Seventh Vessel, bluewood table, and blue tile disappeared. Words appeared in Xenn’s mind.

“I give you my blood through which you will receive all you seek. You in turn give to me your all.”

One by one the gemstones separated from the wall. Yannuvia followed her instructions explicitly and found his way into the grotto behind the falls. Strange red auras filled and warmed the grotto. A hulking form with eight legs and eight eyes appeared in the center of the grotto. Far uglier than its likeness on the cavern entryway, the creature stared directly at him with its two large red eyeballs and six smaller black eyeballs. Twelve feet tall, the bloated beast sported a barbed tail that dwarfed that of a fully-grown wyvern. Huge warty lumps covered the creature’s body and its gaping maw bared huge fangs. Two appendages were modified to form claws. Yannuvia ineffectively challenged the beast with weapons and spells, unsuccessfully sought escape and spells, accepted his hapless position, and finally conversed with the beast.

The beast disdainfully and fluently said in Drelvish tongue, “It took you long enough to get here. You are not of much account, young sorcerer. I don’t see what the Master sees in you, but I’ll present his gifts as he directed.”

Yannuvia angrily shouted, “No one is my Master. Who are you? What are you? What do you want? Again, if you mean to eat me, get on with it!”

The beast sighed, growled something about getting the worst assignments, and said, “I am Arachnis. I’m not a what! I would like some respect, but otherwise I want nothing. I’m here to give you the Master’s gifts, ingrate! Don’t you realize you’ve already received a boon?”

Yannuvia’s boon was the incantation for a fire spell. The phrases appeared in his mind when he touched the stones that gave him entry to the cavern.

He muttered aloud, “I don’t understand. It’s a spell. It’s…it’s a fire spell. The spell books of my forefathers have no such Magick. How?”

“It’s Magick, fool.

“I’ll do so,” Morganne answered and realized she continued to grasp both the Spellweaver’s hands. The Teacher blushed and said, “I’m sorry, Gaelyss, I didn’t mean to…my emotions took over…I…”

“It’s OK, Morganne. I mean…Teacher. I rather enjoyed your touch. If you don’t mind, I’d fancy another kiss. Perhaps just a bit longer,” Gaelyss awkwardly requested.

“My…pleasure,” she responded.

She tenderly placed her soft orange lips against his and let them linger for a while. Gaelyss felt warm. Morganne gently stroked his long orange yellow hair and then softly brushed her long fingers across his smooth face. Without speaking, she smiled, turned and walked through the soft thick bark of the Spellweaver’s home tree.

Sad eyes watched Morganne leave the tree. An iridescent tear trickled down Kirrie’s cheek as she saw the new Teacher depart. The little she-Drelve had carried warm compote of booderries and passionless fruit as a snack for Gaelyss. Instead she saw Morganne enter the Spellweaver’s dwelling and waited outside. Kirrie mustered her strength and watched her older rival, now the Teacher of the Drelves walk away.

Birney listened intently and dispatched Tippy and a contingent of Rangers to watch the Gap to the north which led to Aulgmoor. In the cycles of Meries that followed the skirmish between the Drolls and Draiths, the Droll clans and Kiennish warrens augmented the garrison at the Gap Keep. Two Kiennish shamans accompanied a large force of Drolls to the River Ornash. The Kiennites supervised the construction of a bridge at Rorke’s Drift, a narrow expanse in the River Ornash near its headwaters. The Kiennites used rudimentary spells to reinforce the bridge. Drolls crossed over the bridge and built a guard tower. Kiennites brought a Hippogriff to the watch tower and placated the beast with its favorite food, horse meat. Kiennish warren leaders grudgingly gave up some stout stone ponies to feed the beast. Drolls on the wall walk of the watch tower kept eyes constantly on the River Ornash.  Ranger Tippy returned and reported to the Council of Alms Glen.

Elder Evelynn said, “Why’d Drolls and Kiennites employ a Hippogriff? Horses are important to both their societies. Hippogriffs prefer horse meat to anything else.”

Veteran Ranger Garland surmised, “They built a watch tower on the wrong side of the river. The Draiths won’t have to cross the river to attack them. Strange tactics.”

Sara Jane Rumsie added, “Such tactics imply they fear the River Ornash more than the Draiths.”

Xenn looked to Birney, but the Sergeant maintained his stoic gaze and silence.

Elder Evelynn asked, “Sergeant Birney, what are your thoughts?”

Birney icily answered, “We should destroy it.”

Xenn said, “Birney, the Drolls who killed my father and Narce are dead. They met terrible fates.”

Birney quizzically looked at Xenn and asked, “I thought you had little memory of the events surrounding Mikkal’s death. What have you recalled?”

Xenn looked about. The brace of Drelves were alone in the tree. Birney had sent the other Rangers to Alms Glen to tallow their participation in the festivities. The guard who accompanied Xenn waited at the base of the tree and Seeing his father’s best friend’s grief outweighed the Cloudmare’s request for anonymity. Xenn said, “I was doomed. My father and Narce lay dead. My puny spells did little more than infuriate the Drolls. They restrained me and made ready to carry me to my end. Then a river spirit fell upon them. A Dark Horse. The creature defeated and devoured the Drolls. Later a misty mare joined us. The Cloudmare carried me to Alms Glen with my father’s body. She spoke telepathically and swore me to secrecy. I don’t know why. I’ll ask the same of you. I just felt you had to know.”

Birney marveled, “The stuff of legend! Drolls fear the water. The Annals of Drelvedom tell of such creatures. They fought with our forebears against the greatest Kiennite General Saligia. What you’ve told me makes the Drolls’ retreating make sense. These creatures robbed me of my chance to exact revenge against the Droll that killed Mikkal, but there are many more Drolls. A fortress sits in the Gap in the Peaks of Division. The fortress teems with the wolf-faced killers and their Kiennish allies. I’m ready to risk the wrath of the Council of Alms Glen to go the Gap and slay Drolls.”

Xenn said, “You’d be following the path of the Lost Spellweaver Yannuvia.”

Birney made a little smirk and wryly said, “As do you, my young Fire Wizard.”

Xenn reached the red oak where Birney stood guard, beckoned to the veteran, and scurried up the tree. Birney stared glass-eyed across the expanse. The lesser light of the Dark Period still allowed full view of the expanse. A small group of Purple Moolers munched on grass on the far side of the meadow. Red deer, orange rabbits, yellow grouse, wood ducks, and flying squirrels moved around the meadow. Predators seldom came near the meadow. The presence of the fauna furthered the idea that Drolls and Kiennites for the moment were away.

Xenn politely asked, “How goes the watch?”

Birney said, “Quiet.”

Xenn sat for a moment and followed, “We missed you in the common area, Birney. Your voice compliments Forbin’s lute so well.”

Birney said, “Spellweaver, you should remain within alms Glen. Wandering about places you at risk. I appreciate your visiting me, but I am content to continue my watch.”

Xenn replied, “Sergeant Birney, I don’t take a step outside my tree without a Ranger companion. I gather it’s on your orders. Nary a Droll has shown his face since we returned from, I’m sorry. We all miss my father.”

Birney said, “He was my greatest friend. We shared so many adventures, including the encounter with the wizard, who mysteriously appeared on the night you were born. His life taken needlessly by Drolls. My eyes tell me none are nearby, but my bow longs to exact revenge. I’d volunteer to travel beyond the River Ornash, find the enemies, and kill many. My need for vengeance consumes me.”

Xenn decanted smoky fluid from the purple esyuphee hide sack into the cup and then one after the other poured uncolored, yellow, red, and green potions into the chalice. Auras filled the room with each addition. Xenn eased the ornate vessel to his pale orange lips and gently sipped the smoky warm effervescing liquid. Goose bumps covered his carroty skin and he felt chilled to the bone. He tipped the cup and quaffed the remainder of the liquid. Words appeared in his mind.

“I give you my blood through which you will receive all you seek. You in turn give to me your all.”

Inexplicable surges of strength raced through Xenn.

The redness cleared. A young orange skinned male stood with his back to Xenn. The visitor to Xenn’s dream wore a green robe identical to the artifact Xenn’s mother had found in Sylvan Pond.

Xenn spoke, “What trickery is this?”

The visitor turned and Xenn looked upon himself.

Xenn said, “Leave my sleep! Rest has eluded me.”

The visitor to his dream answered, “All in good time! Tell me… why do you not wear your robe?”

Xenn said, “Obviously, it’s green. I’d stand out in the forest like a sore thumb!”

The Dream visitor replied, “You stand out anyway. It’s a Robe of Sagain, you dumb ****** ******! It’s just hanging in your closet! S**t fire! You don’t know its value. Only a handful survive. A Light Sorceress seamstress constructed the robe from silk of Sagain, the feathers of the snow-white Phoenix, one of the three shypoke scales remaining in the Laurels, and the scales of a prismatic dragon. Moreover, the seamstress risked death as she tenuously placed a jet-black Tuscon feather within the fabric of the device. Once placed in the robe, the Magick of the robe harnessed the malevolent force within the jet-black feather and instead instilled a protection against Death Magick upon the wearer of the cloak. The robe was indeed patterned like the ancient robe of the Order of Light Sorcerers. The two were barely distinguishable. The properties of silk of Sagain included the facility to adapt to the size of each wearer of the garment. The Light Sorcerers cherished the spiders that created the silk. The tiny arachnids required two centuries to produce the silk needed to create the robe. The silk had been used to create little black dresses which had adorned many young women during their ceremonies of commitment. Even more rare were the adamantine spiders that created the slender cords that the sorceress used to bind the silk and other materials. The robe has many hidden pockets. It’d give great advantage in a conflict with another Spellcaster, and it hangs in your ****** closet!”

Xenn timidly said, “It’s green!”

The visitor replied, “Amazing! It contains a prismatic dragon scale within its folds! It can be any color you want! Its last wearer wanted green!”

The big Droll growled. “I’m going to enjoy tearing you up, Spellweaver. Your ilk has tormented my ancestors. Stole the heirloom that controlled the Firehorses! Destroyed the Firehorse brigade! Know Dewrong Korcran will be your end.”

A Droll shook his unmoving comrade and said, “Dewrong, Tummus isn’t moving and does not speak.”

Dewrong said, “He seldom says much of import, Norgle. It was a simple spell. Smack him! He’ll probably wake up. I’m more interested in getting our prize back to camp.”

Norgle slapped Tummus. The force of the blow knocked the Droll down and aroused him. Tummus jumped up and said, “What’d you do that for, Norgle. Dewrong, Farong, Fluggle! You’ve captured the Spellweaver! May I tear off a few of his fingers?”

Dewrong said, “Patience, Tummus. There’ll be plenty of time for it. He’ll sing like a bird and tell all about Drelvedom’s defenses. Let’s make ready. Farong and Fluggle, carry his sorry a**!”

Farong said, “Boss, it won’t take both of us to carry his scrawny a**!”

Dewrong Korcran said sternly, “Listen to me, you t**ds! Keep that a******’s mouth covered and his hands secure. I don’t want spells thrown against us.”

Fluggle timidly answered, “You got it, Boss!”

Norgle asked, “What about Zagnar?”

Dewrong said, “What about him? He got bested by a Drelve! He’s just carrion. Do you want to carry him back to camp, Norgle?”

Tummus, Farong, Fluggle, and Dewrong shared a laugh. Norgle growled under his breath. Only Xenn saw the movement in the dark waters of the Ornash. Farong and Fluggle threw their axes over their backs and picked up the struggling Spellweaver. A dark form silently moved across the water.

Shypokes had soft scales. Sadly, shypokes were long extinct. The little dragons had minimal ability of Magick. About all they could do was change color and warm their eggs. The animals and their eggshells were powerful spell components and had always been sought for this reason. Their scales were soft, not as soft as Prismatic dragon scales, but soft. Shypokes purred and sang little songs to attract mates. The songs of the last shypokes were said to be hauntingly sad. The shypoke was little more than half a cubit long. That’s about two hands length. Only fossilized eggshells remained on Sagain, but the shells maintain their potency. The distinctive, pleasant aroma of the shypoke eggshells mimicked the scent of basil and allspice. The powdered eggshells were a bit irritating to the eyes and nasal passages and induced tearing and sneezing. Many scholars debated whether the little creatures were dragons. Obtaining the rare spell material component of the Translocation Spell required great effort and a lot of luck. The Head of the Order of Dark Sorcerers Boton Klarje-Jhundi rationed his shypoke eggshells carefully.